it's big, it's heavy, it's wood - anxiety

yesterday i got to play whitney houston to kwesi's kevin costner in the bodyguard. after an anxiety-ridden day from no sleep, i woke up early to get the hell out of dodge before i saw the roomie and get to work. i almost succeeded. i got out of the shower, did my yoga and a sheepish voice outside my door asked, "erika?" while I was in full-on meditative mode. i responded curtly, "i'm meditating." now, i know that i am on the path to enlightenment and i DEFINITELY know I am not there yet. i didn't want to talk to him. i was in "i'm pissed, i'm weirded out, i'm confused and i'm regrouping" mode. i took my violin with me and walked to the busstop. the morning was crisp and clear. i had a disjointed convo with mr. mike. i had issues putting sentences together because i was so friggin tired. at some point i decided to leave a message for kwes because i wanted support in going back to my house, and nothing says, "don't f--- with me" like a big black dude, right? kwes agreed to be my rental for the evening. i thought i would strategize with him at luka's and then we'd go to the house. michelle suggested that perhaps showing up to the house with my big black friend may send the wrong message, especially since roomie wasn't expecting him. true. but i was feeling spiteful. if i had to be subjected to an asshole without my permission, he could be subjected to my bringing a friend for moral support. this is catty, i know. and after speaking with michelle, i de-escalated. i would bring kwesi with me, but not as mafia muscle. he could chill in my room while i had a little meetin' with the roomie. at luka's i ordered a spicy carrot soup and waited for kwesi. my new favourite maitre d with the short dreads and cool necklace from Zanzibar was there. he works with youth, too. kwesi wandered in, not even seeing me from the pool room. he must've cased the joint clockwise. "KWES!" I caught his attention and he sat down. I don't know if I have quite described Kwesi. I met him at a bombazo on New Year's Day. Cool Bostonian. Short hair, beard/moustache combo, glasses, and solid. He's like 6' and 200 lbs? He's hilarious. Totally expressive face. One cannot help but notice his expresssions. His face morphs into a radiant grin that disarms one. He's a good silly. Sure, I was anxious about roomie issues and in 5 minutes within sitting down I am about to fall over laughing just listening to Kwes and watching his face. After a disappointing, nondescript dessert (which was disappointing only because it was a lighter flavour than I anticipated), we headed to the NL stop. (Luka's has only disappointed me once before with their clafouti.) And on the bus I felt the 4 hours of sleep beginning to unravel. We sat down and I knocked out on his shoulder for a bit, but remembered to tell him Coolidge was our stop. 20 or so minutes later we were there, I awoke and we walked toward my house. My anxiety was kept at bay. I mean, how does one break the ice about an anus postcard found in one's bathroom drawer unexpectedly? But I had my friend Kwes there. All would be okay. I snaked my neck to see if he was watching tv in the living room. No glow on the neighbor's house. I opened the door. The house was deadly quiet for 11:30 pm. He's usually up. Dang. I mustered up the courage to hash this out...and no roomie? Sorry, Kwes. I guess our Whitney/Kevin role play is over. I'll have to solo with the roomie.